Wakey, Wakey
by Amanita Jackson
Summary: The BoyWhoLived has got to do what the BoyWhoLived has got to do...including get up at 3 am to fight evil. He needs Ron to help out, but Ron is a dangerous person to wake up. Harry braves it anyway, and doesn't find what he expects...[slash][DracoRon]


**A/N:** I am back! This was written this past weekend, but due to this bitchy site and stupid computer "errors" I was forced to wait. Also, I was forced to concentrate on foolish things like homework and tests and upcoming exams...damn, I hate exams. Ah well. Never fear, loyal fans (...all however the hell many you are of you...) for I am returned with a vengeance.

I now have a Youtube addiction as well as a fanfiction addiction...it's a wonder I get any sleep at all...and I still have a social life! I amaze me!

Moving on.

I am back in action (sort of...). For now. I have several things almost done, and I am experimenting with other fandoms. Expect some Sparrington, Arthur/Lancelot, Sick Boy/Renton, and other lovely pairings too. Maybe some Lucius/Narcissa or something with Luna in it. It depends. Also, for sure I will be having a special Christmahannukwanzika fic or something of the sort up for the high holy days. Exciting, isn't this? God, I need sleep...I apologize for my inane babbling but hell, I find this entertaining.

::) (--alien smiley...)

**A/N actually having something to do with the story: **So, on with this story...this is written in second person. A bit of experimenting here. Nifty, eh? (scuffs foot) 'Twould be wonderful if y'all told me how you liked it...but aside from the review-begging, I hope this was worth the wait. Enjoy.

**Warning:** Meh. Screw it. What do I ever write but crack and slash? This is a bit of both.

* * *

You pad across the cold floor to Ron's bed, casting several anti-jinxes on yourself. He _hates_ getting up early. You don't want your newest lead on Voldemort to disappear just because your best friend hexed your knees on backwards… 

…Like last time…

You shove that particular batch of embarrassing memories aside and prepare to wake the dragon. You consider throwing something at Ron from across the room and then using Seamus' bed as a shield. However, the last time you tried that the bed had exploded and the House elves didn't speak to you for the whole week it took to get the scorch marks out.

You mutter silently to yourself about how the 'risking life and limb' part should be coming from your seventy-something, incarnation-of-absolute-evil enemy…not your seventeen-year old friend who screams like a girl if a spider crawls by.

You curse Voldemort's operative for being a morning person. You think longingly of the days when you would stay up until three in the morning instead of having to _get_ up at three in the morning…

You sigh in a long-suffering, noble way. No use postponing the inevitable unpleasantness. There is no way around it. Ron has to be woken up because this surveillance mission requires two people.

As you pad warily down the row of four-posters, you try to give your sluggish, sleepy mind some exercise by setting it to think of new and creative combinations of all the swear words you know to indicate displeasure at the forces of evil. You've found through personal experience that 'Damn them' rather loses its charm after the first hundred times or so.

By the time you reach Ron's bedyou've just completed an inventive but anatomically impossible phrase. You are committing it to memory for use against Snape, Draco, Voldemort, and possibly your cousin if you get the chance to see him this summer.

By the time you reach for the curtains ten seconds later, you've forgotten it completely. Pity. You tilt your head lazily. It was a good phrase. Er, at least, you _think_ it was a good phrase. You're always rather out of it in the mornings.

A nasty little thought pops up. The nasty little thought whispers to you that perhaps facing down the forces of ultimate evil and being the sole barrier against the raging tides of doom when you're totally zonked out from sleep deprivation in the wee hours of the morning is not the smartest thing to do.

You dismiss this thought almost at once. It has far too many long words in it and you'd stopped paying attention about halfway through the long sentence anyway. A sudden fancy strikes you and you pretend to flick the thought off your shoulder. You snicker uncontrollably. You're not entirely sure why, but that's okay.

You think hard, trying to remember why you're standing by Ron's bed at this ungodly hour of the morning. It is common knowledge that he hexes anyone who tries to get him up before ten on a weekend. He has been doing so since second year, when the class learned hexes that actually worked.

That reminds you of the time you formed DA…Ron was very good at the curses, but that didn't help much when you faced off with—

—Voldemort! _Now_ you remember why you're standing barefoot by Ron's bed at three in the morning, risking life and limb before you even get near the Dark Lord's crony.

As this train of thought seems eerily familiar, you shut down your addled thought processes and prepare yourself to wake Ron.

You grit your teeth as you grasp the curtains. You count to three, and then yank them open while throwing yourself to the carpet. After an oddly curse-free moment, you lift your head up warily.

Ron's still asleep.

You ease back up so that you can just see over the edge of the mattress, casting a few extra anti-jinx spells.

Come, now, you tell yourself. You know you're a bit out of it, but…

…there appear to be three arms here instead of two.

You kneel up, still focused on the arms. You adjust your glasses and count the arms aloud after a quick glance ensures Ron is still out of it.

"One…two….three…"

There still appear to be three arms. You ponder this, letting your eyes trace each pale, bare arm up to each pale, bare shoulder.

Aha! Your genius never fails to amaze you. One of those arms is not, in fact, Ron's! It belongs, you see, as your gaze sweeps up the arm and past the shoulder and up the neck…

…to Draco Malfoy.

In horrified fascination, your gaze continues to travel past the blonde's sharp cheekbones until you're staring right into his eyes.

The third arm, Malfoy's arm, tightens around Ron, and he glares at you with eyes full of sleep and hate and a possessiveness that screams "Mine!" It is a look that tells you quite succinctly that you are intruding, and that the owner of those eyes is very, very unhappy about it.

His face starts to shift into a sneer, but stops somewhere between third gear and wariness.

"What were you counting, Potter?" he asks, voice oddly husky with tiredness.

"Arms," you manage. "You—I was coming to wake Ron up and he usually hexes me if I get him up early so I ducked down and my face was level with his arm and I saw that there were three but I'm really tired so I wanted to check and make sure…"

You shut your mouth with a snap, aware and embarrassed that you've been babbling. He looks amused, though.

"You count rather loud. Ly," he corrects himself. "You woke me up," he adds.

You feel awkward. You hazard a question.

"So, how long have you…two…er, been…?" You trail off, flushing. He lifts himself up on one elbow, carefully. Ron shifts in his sleep and mumbles something about Quidditch. He curls closer to Malfoy, clutching the other young man's arm. Malfoy, in turn, tugs Ron closer, splaying his fingers across a milky white chest.

"Sorry," he says, noting your slight squirm.

"No, no, it's not that, it's just…" you trail off again, mentally cursing yourself. You've been up longer than he has—

—and have probably gotten a lot more sleep last night, an inner voice adds, —

—yet he's far more articulate than you are. It's…_annoying_.

"…a surprise?" he prompts. "A shock? Seemingly random? A confirmation of what you've suspected all along?"

You shake your head 'no' to all of his suggestions. It's odd. You're sure that if this had happened at a reasonable hour you'd be much more articulate and much less calm, but somehow, at this ungodly time of the early morning, everything's okay. It's all cool.

He cocks an eyebrow, grins. He's come up with another suggestion.

"The fulfillment of your little nighttime fantasies since third year…?"

_That_ has you sputtering, and sets him to laughing. But soon you're laughing too, at the absurdity of it all, at your initial reaction, and most of all because it's three in the fucking morning and if a pack of rabid doxies were to come bite your foot off it would be funny, because everything's funny at three in the morning.

With all the commotion, Ron stirs. You and Malfoy are instantly silent. Despite your extreme fatigue, your survival instincts are operating at optimum efficiency. You blanch and prepare to dive for cover.

Amazingly, all Ron does is reach a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Your laughter returns when his hand's progress is stopped because Malfoy's arm is in the way.

The sound seems to snap Ron awake. He shoots up on an elbow and flails for his wand on the bedside table. He is once again impeded by Malfoy's arm. The color vanishes from Ron's face, but returns an instant later with a vengeance. His cheeks turn a rosy red as he fumbles for words.

"Oi, Harry, hey, what—er, I mean, when did—"

"You are a _very_ heavy sleeper, Weasley," Malfoy informs him. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You are extremely relieved he didn't use Ron's first name. Or worse, some awful pet name like 'dear' or 'babe' or—you give a mental shudder—'love'.

Malfoy has caught your almost-grimace and pokes you.

"We're _gay_, Wonder Boy, not pathetic. I'm not going to start doing the whole roses and poetry and pet names and holding hands in the hallway thing."

You're really, really tired and this situation is screwing with your already low-functioning mind. You stifle a yawn and wonder fuzzily how he knew what you were thinking.

"You said it out loud, Potter," he replies with a slight smirk.

"Harry," Ron cuts in, saving you from further embarrassment, "are you, er, okay with this or are you just in shock…?"

"Honestly, Ron, I'm so tired I'm not going to remember this later on." You stand and begin to leave.

"Just…break it to me gently over breakfast, all right?" you continue. "In the meantime, Voldemort's crony is still out there. I'll just, er, wake Neville, shall I?" You turn on your heel and almost trip over a shirt on the floor.

You hear a Silencing Charm being cast behind you and hope fervently that Neville is alone and less violent in the early hours.

* * *

...prolly a oneshot...I'm far too lazy to continue this, but if you want to write a sequel, be my guest. PM me so I can read it, ok? 

I have my Youtube addiction to thank for this...I saw the most adorable picture of Draco and Harry (I mentally substuituted Ron for Draco) and there was this look in Draco's eyes...I sound like a sap but seriously, it begged to be written about. It was all possessive and "MINE!"-y, it was awesome. Cute picture, too.

Right. I'm done. Be about your exciting, fanfiction-filled lives, citizens! And don't forget to review! And TELL me if you have awesome stories, please. I am searching for good ones for my C2 "OneStop Slash Shop". Check it out. It is cool. It has angst, fluff, long fics, short fics, drama, crack, and everything inbetween. Huzzah!

Really. I'm done now.


End file.
